Men are notorious for keeping their dainty underthings years past
the acceptable shelf life.
This is what gives us the advantage.
Men have always been the subject of scorn by women in many domestic
areas. We simply don't do enough, and they do everything. So you
ladies say. Now I can't go through all of the expected duties that
may arise in the average household, but I at least want to address
one particular chore: doing the laundry. The fact that more women
do laundry more often than men seems to say that women are unfairly
pressed into this chore.
This is simply not correct.
Clean laundry is necessary. I think all people who aren't morons or
who aren't vying to be disgusting would agree. It is nice to put on
clothes that don't smell like they were stitched together from
roadkill that had first knived a dive into hot sewage before
investigating a few spinning Michelins.
Normal people accept clean laundry as a desirable event in their
lives. Before a couple is married, they both did laundry. Pink
undershirts everywhere attest to this very fact for men. No man or
woman had much hope of snaring the other if their clothes made them
smell like they forwent deodorant and instead stuffed a rotting carp
in their shorts.
The difference between husbands and wives is the Laundry Decision
Point. Men never plan their outfits to blend with their mood/face
paint/weather/ozone alerts/etc. Men are never faced with a dilemma
where they absolutely want to wear an adorable set of pumps and need
some pre-ordained outfit to showcase them.
To men, the decision of what to wear comes totally by survey. If it
happens to be clean, it is a wearable option. Socks? Check. Pants?
Check. Shirt? Check. Undies? Check. We may strive to combine
clothes that don't color-clash or that come from the same decade,
but those are just details when you get down to it. Wearing
something more than once typically is not a point of consternation
either. We merely need to have enough clothes on so that we don't
automatically qualify for jail time.
For men, the crux of the Laundry Decision Point comes down to one
question: Do I have clean underwear? As long as we do, ceiling
height is the only other possible limitation when deciding on a
point to quit stacking dirty laundry. Our underwear gives us the
edge. We have loads of underwear. Like counting rings on a stump,
you can make a timeline of our lives by noting the waist-sizes
contained in our undie-arsenal.
It doesn't matter if those boxers you are wearing in May have
snowmen all over them. If they're clean, they get worn. It doesn't
matter if you reach way back into the drawer and pull out a pair
that makes you ask aloud, "Are these mine?" If they're clean, they
get worn. It doesn't matter if your Batman Underoos from fourth
grade make your appendix visible like a nipple on a brisk day. If
they're clean, they get worn. It doesn't matter if your wife hears
you say, "Can't tell if that's a skid mark or chocolate." If
they're clean, they get worn.
And "clean" means that a) it is assumed that a reasonable attempt
was made at applying a soapy water mixture to the material in
question, and b) there is no discernable bad smell. Take note that
I did not say only "smell," I said "bad smell." Good smells are
good, wherever they came from. Naturally, this leads to the remote
chance that an article of clothing that was destined for soapy water
got hung up on an Airwick for a few days. This may just be enough
reason to fold it and put it back it the drawer.
Ha! Just kidding! We men would never do that! "Fold it" is just a
made-up phrase like "Apollo Moon Landing" or "feelings."
So ladies, here's the deal. If you want to get to a point where the
man does the laundry, somehow outlast his stash of Hanes. I'll tell
you now, it'll never be done. There's a better chance that we would
actually say to you, "You look fat in that."
Some things beg to be talked about. It is a good thing that you
stopped by today. Women, you now can quit arguing about doing the
laundry and focus your energy into berating your husband about other
duties. Guys – hurry up and clean something. Quickly.
Guys, if you don't live a woman yet, take heed.
And stock up on some Airwicks, just in case.
Godspeed.
the acceptable shelf life.
This is what gives us the advantage.
Men have always been the subject of scorn by women in many domestic
areas. We simply don't do enough, and they do everything. So you
ladies say. Now I can't go through all of the expected duties that
may arise in the average household, but I at least want to address
one particular chore: doing the laundry. The fact that more women
do laundry more often than men seems to say that women are unfairly
pressed into this chore.
This is simply not correct.
Clean laundry is necessary. I think all people who aren't morons or
who aren't vying to be disgusting would agree. It is nice to put on
clothes that don't smell like they were stitched together from
roadkill that had first knived a dive into hot sewage before
investigating a few spinning Michelins.
Normal people accept clean laundry as a desirable event in their
lives. Before a couple is married, they both did laundry. Pink
undershirts everywhere attest to this very fact for men. No man or
woman had much hope of snaring the other if their clothes made them
smell like they forwent deodorant and instead stuffed a rotting carp
in their shorts.
The difference between husbands and wives is the Laundry Decision
Point. Men never plan their outfits to blend with their mood/face
paint/weather/ozone alerts/etc. Men are never faced with a dilemma
where they absolutely want to wear an adorable set of pumps and need
some pre-ordained outfit to showcase them.
To men, the decision of what to wear comes totally by survey. If it
happens to be clean, it is a wearable option. Socks? Check. Pants?
Check. Shirt? Check. Undies? Check. We may strive to combine
clothes that don't color-clash or that come from the same decade,
but those are just details when you get down to it. Wearing
something more than once typically is not a point of consternation
either. We merely need to have enough clothes on so that we don't
automatically qualify for jail time.
For men, the crux of the Laundry Decision Point comes down to one
question: Do I have clean underwear? As long as we do, ceiling
height is the only other possible limitation when deciding on a
point to quit stacking dirty laundry. Our underwear gives us the
edge. We have loads of underwear. Like counting rings on a stump,
you can make a timeline of our lives by noting the waist-sizes
contained in our undie-arsenal.
It doesn't matter if those boxers you are wearing in May have
snowmen all over them. If they're clean, they get worn. It doesn't
matter if you reach way back into the drawer and pull out a pair
that makes you ask aloud, "Are these mine?" If they're clean, they
get worn. It doesn't matter if your Batman Underoos from fourth
grade make your appendix visible like a nipple on a brisk day. If
they're clean, they get worn. It doesn't matter if your wife hears
you say, "Can't tell if that's a skid mark or chocolate." If
they're clean, they get worn.
And "clean" means that a) it is assumed that a reasonable attempt
was made at applying a soapy water mixture to the material in
question, and b) there is no discernable bad smell. Take note that
I did not say only "smell," I said "bad smell." Good smells are
good, wherever they came from. Naturally, this leads to the remote
chance that an article of clothing that was destined for soapy water
got hung up on an Airwick for a few days. This may just be enough
reason to fold it and put it back it the drawer.
Ha! Just kidding! We men would never do that! "Fold it" is just a
made-up phrase like "Apollo Moon Landing" or "feelings."
So ladies, here's the deal. If you want to get to a point where the
man does the laundry, somehow outlast his stash of Hanes. I'll tell
you now, it'll never be done. There's a better chance that we would
actually say to you, "You look fat in that."
Some things beg to be talked about. It is a good thing that you
stopped by today. Women, you now can quit arguing about doing the
laundry and focus your energy into berating your husband about other
duties. Guys – hurry up and clean something. Quickly.
Guys, if you don't live a woman yet, take heed.
And stock up on some Airwicks, just in case.
Godspeed.
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